Crash
by Takada Saiko
Summary: A Vietnam era story. The chopper that the A-Team is on goes down in the middle of the jungle and Face and Murdock are taken prisoner. Co written with Gabrielle Day. Please R
1. Chapter 1

Title: Crash

Authors: Takada Saiko and Gabrielle Day

A/N: Hello, hello! Obviously, first off, we don't own TAT. Sadly. I think we'd both be overly happy to have our very own personal Murdock and personal Face. That would be the life, but instead, we just get to write about them. Second, this is a joint effort between Gabrielle Day and I, obviously, as there are two authors. Thirdly, this is somewhat based off of the conversation that Face has with Dr. Richter in my (TS's) fanfic 'Notes'. You don't have to have read it to enjoy this one, but I'd still be much obliged if you did.

* * *

Everything had all gone according to plan. It had been a simple pick up, drop off, and they had been on their way back to base when they'd come under enemy fire. He hadn't been worried, of course, because he was the best damn Huey chopper pilot in 'Nam. He was until the routers had been blown away. Not even the best pilot in the world could have kept it in the air at that rate. "Everyone hold on!" HM Murdock heard himself yell as they hit ground. The chopper rolled and he felt himself lurch forward. The last sound to hit his ears was BA's cursing and Face shouting. Dirt flew and the high pitched scream of technology colliding with the earth filled the air.

Face felt his harness snap taughtly against his body, the air forced from his lungs. With the second bounce the force was too great and Face felt the world fly by him. Then there was nothing.

Murdock came to hanging from his seat. He felt everything spinning and blinked several before he weakly unsnapped his harness and found himself falling against the controls. Everything hurt, but he managed to climb up and out the door. It was only then that he realized that the front of the helicopter had been ripped from the back and thrown far enough away that he couldn't see where the tail had landed. The skies opened up and the rain began to fall down around him. He ducked back down, grabbed the only automatic weapon he had had in the cockpit and then jumped to the ground. The dirt was already turning to mud and he sank to a knee, squinting against the sheets of rain. A figure lay just beyond him, having been thrown from the helicopter.

Fear twisted in his gut, but he knew better than to dart out into the open. Wherever they had landed, they weren't close enough to base to be safe. He ran a hand over his face and squinted in the dim light of evening to see blood smeared over his fingers. Murdock wiped the blood off on his jacket, unbothered and not reacting to the sight. He pressed himself close to the remains of his chopper, eyes never leaving the figure on the ground which was still unmoving. He could tell from the build that it was Face. He watched, barely breathing until Face's fingers twitched against the mud. Then he moved.

He stayed low to the ground, boots sinking into the thick mud. He reached his friend and his hands were on his shoulders immediately. "Face? Faceman?" he rasped, his own voice sounding strange to his ears. They would be there any second, he had to get the conman to rouse. He felt his head spinning again and everything seemed like it was crashing in around him. His mind raced ninety to nothing and he could barely focus on his task at hand. "Please wake up," he pleaded desperately.

A dull roar invaded his ears and pain flooded his body as Face fought his way towards the sound of his name. His eyes flickered and he struggled to remember what happened, where he was and if they were still on a mission. _No, no, the mission is over. What is that sound? Explosions? _The idea of their position being compromised was enough to make him jerk fully awake and halfway into a sitting position. He bit his lip to stifle a groan and found himself almost nose to nose with his pilot. "Murdock?" he gasped.

"Face!" Murdock answered. His dark eyes were wide and somewhat confused, as if he were still piecing together what happened. "C'mon," he urged suddenly, grabbing at his friend's collar and pulling him. "We have to get out of here. Gotta find Hannibal and BA."

Face stumbled to his feet, hissing lowly through his teeth as his body protested. He patted his torso and was pleased to find he at least had a sidearm. "Murdock, Murdock, hang on a sec." he said, scanning the area he could see. "What happened...oh sweet mercy." he muttered as his gaze landed on what was left of the chopper. The state of the beast didn't spark much hope for the other two members of their unit. The frantic look in Murdock's expression was making him nervous as well. "Murdock, are you hurt? Hey, buddy, look at me."

Murdock was shaking, looking very rattled. He was used to seeing the battle from the air. Certainly, he'd been trained for on-ground battles if it ever came to that, but that certainly wasn't his expertise. He was a pilot, not a foot soldier. "We crashed... I think," he answered slowly, as if he weren't certain that he was giving him the correct answer. It was difficult to tell in the rain and shady jungle, but it looked like blood was caked against the left side of his head, messed into his hair and staining his jacket. If he was hurt beyond that, Face couldn't tell, and he doubted if the pilot himself knew. He appeared to be working purely off of adrenaline for the moment.

"Yeah, that part I'd gathered." Face said mildly. They were damn lucky -or had a damn better pilot than they even realized - that whole thing hadn't gone up in flames. By all accounts, they should be human barbeque, left to be forgotten in the damp, humid, jungle. He reached out and squeezed Murdock's arm. He had to stay focused. "Hey, it's gonna be alright. We'll find them and be back before you know it, okay? They can't be too far away." Face said with more enthusiasm than he really felt. But then of course, that was what he was good at.

"Ya think so?" Murdock asked, his drawl sounding thicker than usual.

Face had no time to respond when the bullets rained down around them. Loud shouts in what was probably Vietnamese could be heard throughout the thick jungle. The two Americans looked around to see if they could catch a hint as to what direction they were coming from. Murdock took hold of his gun that he'd gone back for and aimed it out towards the darkness. The rain hampered their vision as they stood back to back, watching for their attackers. "I can't see 'em, Face. Where're they comin' from?"

Face figured they'd search the wreckage first, which only bought them the slimmest amount of time. He cursed softly and grabbed Murdock's arm, dragging him back into the undergrowth. If they could stay out of sight, they might be overlooked. Face slid the hammer on his gun back, wincing at the click that seemed unusually loud. "Murdock, stay down." He whispered desperately. He tensed, hearing rustling in the jungle behind him. If they were lucky, it was the wind. If they were less lucky, it was wildlife. If they were screwed, it was VC surrounding them.

Murdock glanced up from his crouched position he had taken. He could barely make out Face's figure in the dark shadows, even if the blond was standing right next to him. He looked up at the sound of a chopper flying over them and a spotlight suddenly illuminated them and the surrounding few feet. The pilot squinted against the light, suddenly fixated on it. The line 'Don't go towards the light,' raced through his mind and it tugged a short laugh from him.

They were advancing on them in a semi-circle, and from what Face could see there didn't seem to be any directly behind them. He glanced upward at the light as Murdock laughed, God only knew what was going through his mind now. Face made his mental marks on his targets. He could shoot enough of them to buy Murdock time to run. He was a jackrabbit when he wanted to be, and there was ever a time this was it. It was their only chance of one of them getting away. Face took aim and got ready to order the pilot to run.

The blond didn't have time to turn around when he heard the trees and the brush rustling behind them, but Murdock turned on instinct and fired the rifle in his hands. He was a better aim than Face would have expected and a man fell out of the trees. At the brief look of confusion from his friend, the pilot shrugged. "The light was up there, why wouldn't a person be there?" It all made sense in _his_ head.

There was shouting, none of which the two men could understand at first. English finally mixed in and Face was able to understand an order to surrender. "Murdock," he said quietly. "When give the word, I want you to run. You've got to find Hannibal. Can you do that?"

Murdock turned two wide, brown eyes to his friend. "I'm not leaving you," he said, his voice holding a tone of wonder that Face had even mentioned it. "Either we leave together or we go down together. Hannibal and BA have got each other. They'll be fine."

Face turned towards the man he assumed to be the leader and smiled widely. He momentarily loosened his grip on his weapon so that it was hanging from one finger. "Surrender?" he asked loudly. He smiled and nodded. Through his teeth he said. "Get ready to start shooting." He waved with his free hand knelt as if he was going to place his gun on the ground

"Now?"

"Now."

The sound of the deluge and the chopper above could not drown out the firestorm that followed. Face and Murdock fell into the battle, relying purely on the instincts honed by endless hours of training under Hannibal's relentless tutelage. They were outnumbered, outgunned, and left, as far as they knew, to themselves in the middle of Vietnam. The odds were certainly against them, but that was nothing unusual.

It was going to get worse before it would get better. Face caught additional movement out of the corner of his eye and turned in time to see men drop out of the trees near Murdock. One tackled him from behind and brought the butt of his pistol down hard against the pilot's head. The group was momentarily distracted by his fall, and the survivalist in Face saw his opportunity to vanish, his one split second to slip away. Murdock's words echoed in his mind and he reacted so strongly against himself that he lost the upper hand.

"_No! _Murdock!"

He was swarmed in a matter of seconds. He felt hands grabbing at him from all sides, ripping his gun away and holding him, dragging him, and detaining him. He struggled, screaming and crying out. He cursed them and he called to the unresponsive pilot that they were currently hauling up from his fallen place. Face searched for an idea, any plan, and wished beyond anything else that Hannibal were there to tell him what to do. But Hannibal wasn't there. He might not even be alive, and they might not be for much longer.

He felt something strike him hard and his vision swam.

He was forced to his knees and he was struck again when he resisted them tying his hands behind his back. "Murdock!" he shouted again. His voice was becoming hoarse, shouting over the men shouting at him. At least Murdock would have understood what they were saying. He felt blood run in his eye and he shook his head in an attempt to clear his vision. He couldn't see the pilot anymore. Couldn't tell if they'd killed him. He couldn't hear the crazy laughter or the sound of his voice and Face had never felt more terrified in his life.

One of the VCs knelt so that he was staring Face in the eye. A wicked grin crossed his face. "We know you two well, and your colonel," he said in slow, deliberate English. "He is dead, and you will talk."

The blonde spat in his face. "Go to hell." Face snarled. He quickly moved his gaze among those left standing from the brief encounter. For being only two, they had done a good deal of damage. This man had lost men tonight, and would not take it lightly. There were too many left though, to make an escape unarmed, and without knowing what was happening with Murdock.

The man who had spoken, one who apparently had enough commands to give orders and knew enough English to communicate with his American prisoners, spoke rapidly to his subordinates. They moved about and he turned his dark, narrow eyes back to the lieutenant. Moments later two Viet Congs moved forward, into Face's line of sight, and they were dragging an unconscious Murdock none too gently with them. "You will come quietly," the VC said, motioning back to the pilot, "or we'll kill him now and take you by force. I only _need_ one man to interrogate."

Face carefully schooled his features so as not to let his relief at the sight of him show. "All right. I'll go quietly." he agreed. He was hauled to his feet, gun pressed to the small of his back. He heard the men with Murdock fall into step behind him and he hoped that he could get his bearings as they moved through the jungle. It soon became apparent that figuring out where they were was a lost cause. The jungle all looked the same, and due to the disorientation from the crash he had no idea if they were getting closer or further away from base camp. Hannibal had better not be dead, he thought grimly.

* * *

The rain had let up by the time that HM Murdock began approaching consciousness. A soft groan escaped his lips and he regretted that resurfacing as soon as he neared it. His head ached as did the rest of his body. Slowly, his sluggish mind told him that something had happened. Something bad, but it failed to tell him what had happened. His thoughts ran together as his brown eyes fluttered open to focus, finally, on what looked like a hut's roof. It smelt grimy and putrid, as if something had died very near there and very recently. He groaned again, trying to push himself up off of the damp, dirt flooring.

"Do not bother to get up." A voice from above him said flatly. A swift kick in the ribs had him hugging the damp earth again. Murdock groaned and rolled to one side, trying to get a better look at who was in the hut with him. "You are HM Murdock, yes? Pilot?" the voice asked.

Murdock chuckled mirthlessly. "Sometimes. My head's spinnin' so fast I could be the queen of England and never know it." He shouldn't have answered flippantly, he knew, but there was just something that seemed to take hold in drastic situations. He had few inhabitations as it was to keep from saying things that most people wouldn't, but it seemed the higher the level of danger, the less of a filter he had. Funny how things worked.

He was surprised when no part of his body was smacked, kicked, or crushed. Instead his captor smiled dangerously. "You will keep in mind, HM Murdock, that your answers will affect not only yourself."

"Well, if you're threatenin' the voices, I don't think you'll get very far," the pilot answered with a surprisingly wide, child-like grin. "They're awful talkative and just don't know when to quit, ya know?" His grin turned dark. "Kinda like certain commie bastards."

His captor's smile vanished and he stood from his crouching position. He shouted into the darkness, Murdock thought he said something about bringing the jacket. "No one will find you here." the man said. "No one will come for you. You are alone."

Murdock seemed to ignore him as he began humming a song quietly under his breath. BA had once said - jokingly and had managed an apology for the statement later - that if any one of them were to ever be captured and questioned, Murdock would be the one to drive his captors crazy before they broke him. _"Being that the fool's already broke," _BA had grunted. Now he was the one held captive and in a way he found himself on a path to proving BA right. He could feel several of the VCs shift in a confused manner, staring at him.

The main one stepped out into the darkness and stepped back in, throwing a wad of fabric in front of him. It was soaked through with blood. "Tell me, does that amuse you?"

Murdock froze and forced himself into a sitting position on the soft dirt. He reached a shaky hand for the jacket - Face's uniform jacket - and gripped it tightly. They'd gotten him, then. He wasn't alone. He might have been able to handle it if he'd been alone. He turned his eyes up to the VC slowly. There was no playfulness, but something darker than most of his friends would have recognized. "I swear to you, if you hurt him-"

"Oh, it is far too late for that. Your friend proved to be very...stubborn? He called for you, though, until the very end."

Murdock didn't give his body a chance to protest as he launched himself at the snide man. He felt his fingers close around the fabric of his uniform and he landed one good punch before his men got to him. They pulled him away, kicking and cursing. He shoved an elbow into someone's nose and got an arm free. He swung to his left and clocked another in the side of the head, following it with a headbutt. The man went down and the pilot kicked out, toe of his boot connecting heavily with the second man's shin. He screamed at him as he jumped, going to the ground with him, landing punch after punch to the man's face.

VCs swarmed the small hut and it took several to pull the angry pilot from his prey. Murdock had never been much of a crier, but tears were streaming down his face and he screamed in English and then in Vietnamese so that they'd be sure to understand every word, every threat, that he said. He barely felt the first several blows through the rush of adrenaline that had had him fighting, but finally one connected with an already cracked rib, fully breaking it, and he gasped for air, sinking in his captors' grasp.

"Now, soldier, you will answer our questions. To refuse only means your death will take longer. Tell me where your next planned strike is." The leader asked coldly. The others had re-tied Murdock's hands behind his back, and the pilot's head slumped, chin resting on his chest. "Tell me!" the man repeated.

Murdock's body began to tremble and for a moment the man thought he had won that quickly. He was startled when Murdock laughed harshly, not looking up. The man stepped forward, black hair gleaming in the dim light. He grabbed Murdock by the hair and jerked his head up. "Tell me!" he snarled.

Murdock studied him, as a child might study a caterpillar clinging to a tree branch. His lips twitched and he said, "Why?" The man blinked. "Why?" he echoed. Murdock's lips twitched again, not quite a smile. "Why is a raven like a writing desk?"

He barely felt the blow to the face. His head snapped to the left and he felt his vision swimming. They'd made a mistake to tell him that Face was dead. If he'd been alive, that would mean there was some hope. Now, Murdock had never fancied himself fond of death, even in the darkest moments of this war, but he knew his odds. He was alone and he would die. It seemed simple enough. Now his job was to keep these bastards from finding anything out.

Murdock recited poetry, plays, song lyrics, whatever came to mind, and that was pretty much anything. Anything but the thought of his dead companion, although he couldn't always avoid it when they shoved the blood soaked jacket into his face. If he ignored the blood, he could faintly smell Face's cologne, the stuff he wasn't supposed to wear but did anyway. He could get away with that because he was the Faceman, part of the A-Team and they always came back...

"What the hell is he doing now?" one of the men asked. They had beaten him for close to two hours and had gotten nothing but off key singing for their trouble.

"I think it's called yodeling." The leader answered. "Put a gag in his mouth and a bag over his head. I don't want to hear him while I sleep."

The pilot made a gagging sound as one of the VCs tied a piece of cloth around his mouth so that it couldn't close all the way. He could manage some noise beyond it, and did so, until the asked for bag was placed over his head and he felt another sharp blow that sent him to the ground. He lay there, finally silent, until the footsteps faded from his hearing. Everything hurt, but if he closed his eyes he might be able to, at least for a little bit, go to someplace better. Someplace with something that resembled joy in it. There had to be someplace left. He fell into something that might be called sleep - or a dazed lack of awareness at any rate - to the sound of his own humming around the gag.

* * *

Across camp, in a smaller, sturdier hut, Face lay on the ground in a similar position to that of pilot so far away, but completely and utterly silent. The gashes on his arms had stopped bleeding, but Face knew he was headed straight for infection unless they were found. Or escaped. They had told him, or tried, until he understood, that as long as he didn't make a sound they'd keep the pilot alive. Most of his screaming had taken place underwater, anyway, until they had left him. He wasn't sure if he could make a sound now if he wanted too. And now that Murdock's crazed singing had abruptly stopped, he very desperately wanted to.

He tried to shift his weight and regretted it instantly. His arms were tied at such an angle behind his back that he thought that his left shoulder might actually have been pulled from its socket. The pain was so intense everywhere that he couldn't be entirely sure about one specific spot. He blinked, dirt caked against his light lashes and make his eyelids heavy. He wanted to sleep, but that wasn't an option. It couldn't be an option if they had any hope of getting out alive.

Not for the first time he wondered what Hannibal would do if he were in the situation with them. As the silence began to grate on his already strained nerves, he wondered if they had gone ahead and killed Murdock. If the lack of singing meant they'd grown tired of his antics and killed him. There had been no gunshots, but that meant nothing. Not when there were so many other ways to make a man's heart stop beating. Even if they said they needed him alive...it wasn't such a leap from killer to liar. _As you would know, _his brain sneered at him. Face grit his teeth and forced his eyes open. Use your surroundings, Hannibal taught him. Take your enemies confidence and use it to your advantage

They'd left him alone in the hut, thinking he was too worn and too beaten to manage anything. It was almost true, but he thought that if the right set of circumstances would present themselves, he might be able to muster enough energy to get up. If escape were possible. He squinted against the darkness to see what they'd left him. What did they think would pose no threat within the reach of an injured American POW? A wooden chair, the whip that they'd used on him, the large bucket of water that he'd been dunked in, and a rusted out knife. Really? They must have thought he'd never have the energy to see it, much less crawl to it. Focusing all of his energy, he rolled so that he could slowly get to his knees, gritting his teeth against the pain. His bindings were made of rope. He'd have his hands free, if nothing else, if he could get to that knife.

The piercing scream that cut through the silence gave Face the adrenaline boost he need to pull himself to the knife. The blade slipped across his fingers and Face hissed through his gag as he felt his skin part in several places. He finally had it positioned correctly and went to work on his bindings. Another scream and Face winced. He was alert enough now to recognize the muted tone, as if the screamer was gagged as well. _Murdock._ At least he knew the crazy bastard was still alive.

Finally the ropes began to fray and fell free. The adrenaline dulled the pain and Face pulled the gag from his mouth. He forced his mind to think things through. There'd be guards outside, he was sure, except for the small possibility that they'd gone to check out the screaming. It wasn't likely. There'd been enough VCs to cover the small base several times over. His eyes fell on the scant equipment that he possessed and a small smirk tugged at his lips.

He crouched low near the door and began humming. He kept it soft, but loud enough to be heard by anyone outside the door. It was one of the tunes he'd heard Murdock singing in the hours before, one of the English ones anyway. Face had never realized how many languages the man actually knew. He increased his pitch ever so slightly until he heard movement outside the door. He tossed in a groan for good measure, which got the desired result of one guard opening the door and shutting it behind him. Face tugged gently on the rope, which he'd tied to the end of the chair. The chair jerked forward, grabbing the guard's attention and giving Face time to attack from behind. He sipped one arm around his torso, pinning his arms, and the other around his neck, cutting off his air supply. and his ability to sound an alarm. When the man stopped struggling, Face lowered him to the ground and hit him in the side of the head with the butt of the knife for good measure. He gagged him, tied him, and began taking off his uniform.

* * *

Murdock knew his screams were dying, but it was almost as if he couldn't control himself. In everything, he always felt as if he at least had the choice to cut it off or continue, but even if he were to grit his teeth around the gag it did no good.

He'd woken himself with them, from some nightmare that had ripped him from his moments of semi-oblivion, and then they'd descended on him. He thought they were really there, anyway, as the bag was covering his eyes and he wasn't sure what was real and what wasn't anymore. Something that felt like a boot pressed down on his windpipe and he heard a man growl out threats from above.

Murdock choked, unable to get enough air through the rough canvas sack and the gag in his mouth. His body spasmed and he tried to jerk away from the ominous presence crushing him, but couldn't get away. The man stayed with his heel against his prisoner's throat until he quiet moving and backed away.

"Did you kill him?" one asked.

He shrugged and kicked Murdock in the shin. There was no response. "Who knows? The devil probably wouldn't take this crazy bastard."

Murdock lay still, tears streaming down his face from the effort of not gagging. _Please, please, let there be planes in heaven, Faceman._

* * *

A/N: And that is Part One! Part Two should be up later tonight if all goes well. Please R&R. We are rather addicted to it.


	2. Chapter 2

Crash part two by Takada Saiko and Gabrielle Day

We own nothing (quite litterally, I'm a college student and Ms Day just graduated. Trying to sue us would not turn up any cash lol)

* * *

_Please, please, let there be planes in heaven, Faceman._

Murdock heard them leave, their chatter turning light at the talk of his possible death. Just as soon as they were gone, he heard another set of footsteps enter and he bit hard on his gag. He could stay quiet, really he could. If they thought he was dead... Maybe he was dead. The thought should have shaken him deeply, but somehow it didn't. If he was dead then they'd leave him alone, but he was sure death wasn't supposed to be stuck in however one died. Wasn't that in an old poem...?

His erratic thought pattern was cut short as the bag was pulled from his head and his dark eyes widened. He was dead, after all. Face stared back at him. As soon as his gag was freed he whispered, his voice hoarse from his own screams, "Faceman, why're you dressed like that in heaven?"

Face grinned at him lopsidedly. "We're a long way from heaven, and if we don't keep quiet we're in for a lot more hell, baby." His smile faltered. "I'm gonna sit you up and untie you, okay?" he whispered.

"Aw, Facey, you jus' called me 'baby,'" Murdock answered with a wide, slightly loopy grin. He made no protest as his friend sat him up and began working on the knots. After a moment, he turned to look at the blond. "You're dead," he said flatly, a haunted sort of look in his dark eyes.

Face leaned back once the pilot's hands were free. Murdock just sat there, staring at him, until his gaze drifted and stopped on something just out of arm's reach. Face felt every muscle in his body tense as he recognized what Murdock was looking at. His mind went back to the gashes on his arms, now covered by the jacket of the man he'd left in the other hut. They'd pressed his military jacket into the wounds so hard he thought he'd die then and there. Now he realized why they'd done it. He caught Murdock's face gently in his hands. "Hey, buddy, look at me. Listen to me. I'm not dead. I was never dead. Nobody's going to snuff out the Faceman that easy, huh?" he smiled a rare, genuine smile. "Besides, you said it yourself. We go down together or we leave together. I vote for leaving."

Murdock pulled away suddenly, eyes wide. "No. You're dead. I know you're dead. That means I'm either dead too or seeing things... I don't guess you're there, huh?" He was working himself up, his voice becoming frantic even if it were still barely audible. His eyes were looking to all corners of the dingy hut as if he expected every shadow to jump out at him. "If I'm quiet, they'll think I'm dead too," he whispered distantly.

"Murdock..." Face whispered. They were going to run out of time, but Face had to snap him out of it. "Murdock, tell me what I can do. I'm alive. You're alive. We need to get out of here so we can find Hannibal and BA." He realized he was roasting, between the cuts and the heat and he pulled the jacket off and ran a hand over his eyes. "Murdock..."

Murdock's dark eyes fixated on the deep cuts along the conman's arms. "Face... Face, your arms." He reached a shaky hand out and touched one of the cuts, causing the other man to pull away, cursing lowly. Murdock seemed not to hear and scooted closer, both of them kneeling in the mud, knees not quite touching. The pilot leaned in and reached out again. Face braced himself for the sting, but this time it was the barest of touches against his wounded skin. "You're bleeding." Murdock mumbled.

"Yeah, live men do that." Face replied.

Murdock's other hand twisted in Face's t-shirt, faintly feeling the heartbeat underneath. "You're alive," he breathed, eyes seeking out the other's. "You're alive!"

"Yeah, we've been over this, and so are you," Face growled out. "Now can we get out of here?"

The pilot nodded enthusiastically.

Face pushed himself to his feet and offered a hand to Murdock. He'd managed to figure out which direction the river was, and if they could make it there they could follow it upstream to camp. Face would have liked to have had more weapons at his disposal, but beggars couldn't be choosers.

Murdock took the offered hand and felt himself sway as he stood. Was the floor shifting? Floors weren't supposed to sway like a boat. They were supposed to be solid, being land and all. He glanced at the muddy flooring to make sure that it was, after all, ground. Well, at least that checked out. He glanced back up to his friend who was eyeing him worriedly. "It moved," Murdock said as if it would make sense to anyone.

The sound of automatic weapons outside of the hut cut off any response from the conman.

Face pushed Murdock towards the back of the hut. "Move!" he hissed. He kept pushing the other man in front of him, both men keeping low as they headed towards the jungle. It appeared for the moment that their captors were either confused or distracted, and we're immediately aware that they were escaping. They started running as soon as they were behind the tree line. "Don't stop!" Face said.

"Who's shooting?" the pilot asked as he ducked low. They hit the edge of the jungle, just beyond the camp. Face could smell freedom, but Murdock turned to look back. "They weren't shooting at us."

Face grabbed his shoulder and pulled him behind a tree. "What?" he asked. He was only half paying attention, keeping one eye on the forest ahead of them. Both of them needed medical attention, and were basically defenseless, which made Face uneasy.

Murdock seemed to be searching the distance for something in particular, but with the way he'd been acting, Face wasn't willing to bet on it. They were running out of time and they had to find their own way back to base. No one would be looking for them. According to government documents, they had never left, therefore could never been in enemy territory. Therefore, of course, they could hope for no rescue.

"Hey, look, Face!" Murdock said suddenly, grabbing the other man's attention as he pointed to where an explosion had gone off in the camp.

Face squinted through the smoke and tilted his head to one side. "Holy...Hannibal?"

Murdock grinned. "It is! Holy Hannibal!"

The small camp was in an uproar. Men were scattering, shouting curses and commands into the night air. "Thank God." Face murmured.

Colonel Hannibal Smith and Sergeant BA Baracus had rolled - driving what appeared to be one of the VC's own jeeps - straight into the fray, firing machine guns and letting grenades fly. The fire leapt up all around them and BA jumped from the jeep. If his usual demeanor wouldn't have scared off most of their enemies, the look of utter rage that resided on his face that day did the rest of the job. Charlies scattered everywhere, confused and frightened.

Face slumped against the tree trunk, practically weak with relief. Murdock headed back towards the camp at a light jog. "Hey! Hey guys!"

It happened so fast that no one would have had time to react. No one had seen the sniper, and in the settling of after-battle no one heard the gun fire. All they saw was a tall, thin pilot fall suddenly to the ground. Face, from his position, tried to convince himself that maybe he'd tripped, but when he saw the sniper fall from the far tree by Hannibal's well aimed bullet, he knew what had happened.

Seconds ticked by, but in Face's mind they stretched into eternity. Murdock lay where he had fallen, still and silent and completely unnatural. Movement to his left caught his attention and he realized one of the Vietnamese soldiers was making a run for it. Rage churned underneath his usually composed features and his world pinpointed on that man. Face pursued him across the tree line and took him down before he could get into the jungle. He could hear nothing, even though the man's mouth was moving and his own throat burned. His fists landed against the man's face again and again, his knees pinning the struggling body to the ground, fingers closing around the warm throat. He couldn't kill the man that had taken Murdock, but this was damn well close enough.

"That's enough, Lieutenant," Hannibal said from behind him, his voice calm and steady against the raging chaos. His words sounded distant, more like a memory than an audible sound coming from his commanding officer's vocal chords. The elder man put a reassuring hand on Face's shoulder and gently pulled him away. "He's dead. That's enough."

Face struggled to put together the words that were being spoken. His first thought was Murdock, but then he saw that the VC beneath him had stopped struggling and that his eyes remained open, staring in horror at the understanding of his own death. Face shook horribly as he stumbled up and Hannibal had to keep him from collapsing to the ground. "We thought you were dead," Face whispered. "You hadn't come..."

"We're here. Now we have to help Murdock. Leave him," Hannibal gently ordered and coaxed the injured man away from the VC soldier.

"Is he alive?" Face asked. He was gasping for breath, air coming in short painful bursts. "I tried to get to him faster, I should have..."

Hannibal held his shoulders. "You did what you could. Now we have more to do, son. Help BA get him into the truck. Go!"

Face stumbled to where BA was crouching near the pilot. Hannibal chewed on the end of the cigar, taking in the destruction of the camp. It wasn't nearly enough. He could burn every enemy camp in the whole damn country to the ground. It would never be enough. "Let's go!" he called gruffly.

"We're miles from the nearest base, Hannibal," BA said as the CO hopped into the passenger's seat. Face was in the back of the jeep, crouched next to the unconscious Murdock. He'd pulled his own t-shirt off to use it to stop the steady flow of blood from the bullet wound. He couldn't be one hundred percent positive that it'd missed the pilot's lung, but he was hopeful. His breathing didn't sound _that _strained.

"Just get us there, BA," Hannibal ordered and the jeep lurched into motion. "How's he doing back there, Face?"

"Drive fast." Face replied flatly. He kept one hand on the material covering the wound and the other on Murdock's forehead. Hannibal turned in his seat and frowned at the gashes on the conman's arms, but said nothing. BA pushed the gas pedal down as far as he dared in the terrain. "Murdock?" Face whispered. "Hang tight, buddy. We're gonna make it."

A pair of brown eyes fluttered momentarily and finally opened. "Face?" he mouthed, but the name didn't actually sound from his lips. He reached up for his friend, confusion obvious in his eyes. His mind raced, trying to put pieces together and recovering only blankness. In a working panic he tried to sit up, trying to force enough air through his lungs to ask what had happened.

Face grabbed his hand and gently squeezed his fingers, trying to keep the pilot lying down. "Hey, hey, take it easy. Easy. It's going to be okay. Hannibal and BA came and got us. You..." Face swallowed thickly. "You got shot. You've got to stay still, okay?"

Murdock finally allowed himself to be kept down, but his eyes still looked haunted. "I don't... remember," he managed to gasp out, pain etched into his features. "I don't..." He closed his eyes against it, trying to force his mind to slow down. It was all raging so fast that he couldn't stop it. Pieces flooded back of screams and tattered songs, but he couldn't seem to make heads or tails of any of it. Something about a jacket covered with something... His? No. He'd left his back at base for this one... Whose then? He gritted his teeth in frustration. He couldn't make any of it stick together.

"The chopper crashed, remember? You and I got taken prisoner. I never knew you could yodel." Face said with a painful laugh. He leaned his forehead against the edge of the seat, unable to look Murdock in the eyes. "It took us longer than normal to get away. But, we were in a chopper crash. I think that should give us a little leeway, huh?"

"I crashed?" Murdock asked, genuine shock sounding in his voice.

"Technically, we were blown out of the sky," Face assured him quickly. He glanced back so that he could see his other two teammates. BA's eyes were focused carefully on the path ahead of them and on lookout for any traps that might be set. They were in a hot zone and should be ready for anything. Hannibal turned back to them and frowned, chewing thoughtfully on the ever present cigar.

Murdock focused his gaze on the roof of the jeep and hummed softly to himself. "Nevermore, quoth the raven, nevermore," he murmured. His perfect record was tarnished; he'd lost a chopper. But no passengers? Maybe it didn't count if all hands made it back to the deck alive. But were they all alive? "Come with me, and you'll be in a world of pure imagination," he sang, each breath coming out a wheeze.

"Murdock, shut up. You're gonna hurt yourself." BA grumbled from the front.

"How far, BA?" Hannibal asked, voice taught.

"Just a couple more clicks, Hannibal," he answered.

The jeep fell silent with the exception of Murdock's humming and Face's occasional hushing of it. The conman smoothed back sweat-drenched hair and almost wished that the pilot might close those fever bright eyes if only so he could have a few pain free moments of rest. He'd wish it, if he weren't more worried that Murdock might never open his eyes again afterward.

Murdock's gaze came back into focus and he tapped Face on the cheek. "Hey. When we're dead, you need to be wearing the right uniform." he said seriously. "I can't be running around eternity with a pal in the wrong uniform."

Face laughed despite himself. "Hey, we're going to die old men, though, remember? I plan to die in a nice suite, not in some uniform that's seen every inch of mud Vietnam has to offer."

Murdock's breathing hitched. "Can't... breathe," he managed, eyes widening. "Why?"

"Because you're talkin' too damn much!" BA growled from the front seat. "We're almost there, just shut up before ya suffocate yerself."

Face gripped Murdock's fingers more tightly as his eyes began to close. He was lucky the man had stayed awake this long. He forced himself to glance back at Hannibal. "Were either of you injured in the crash?" he asked.

"BA's arm is busted up pretty bad," the colonel answered, puffing on his cigar. "I'm a little worse for wear, but it looks like we both got out of it better than the two of you."

"Being prisoners didn't help," Face said lowly.

"There'll be doctors at base," Hannibal answered him coolly. "This could land us a trip for some R&R."

"Gee. That would be awfully thoughtful of them." Face drawled. He was having a hard time staying awake. His arms burned and ached, his throat burned and his voice was still raspy. He leaned his forehead against the seat and shut his eyes. He vaguely heard Hannibal shouting out to the guards that were at the edge of the base. There was a flurry of motion that the conman barely caught as they were ushered into the campsite and the doors were flung open.

Hannibal called for a medic before turning to the blond. "Face? You with me, kid?" he asked.

Face blinked several times, glancing down at the surprisingly silent pilot on the back seat. Murdock's eyes were shut tightly, but he couldn't be sure if he'd fallen into a fitful sleep or where the eccentric captain was per say.

"Face?" Hannibal called again, this time gaining the lieutenant's wavering attention.

"Sorry, boss." Face said. He slumped forward and Hannibal caught him easily.

Hannibal cursed softly and barked at the medics to move faster. "Stay with me, kid. You hear me? That's an order!" he growled in Face's ear.

"I'm doin' my best," the conman slurred, feeling like he was fighting with everything he had just to stay awake.

The medics finally arrived, stretchers between them to take the wounded men back to the medic station. BA growled at them to leave him alone and pointed them back to Face, currently leaning heavily against Hannibal, and Murdock who was still in the back seat of the jeep.

Face curled his fingers into Hannibal's sleeves. "Make them take Murdock first." he mumbled.

"All right, all right, kid, take it easy." Hannibal said. He nodded to the back of the jeep. "Our pilot's been shot and beat up pretty good. Move quick."

The medics nodded their acknowledgement and began easing him out of the backseat. All at once Murdock began thrashing, screaming for them to let him go. His voice came out in harsh gasps and they held him down.

Face jerked out of Hannibal's hold as if he had been electrocuted. He shoved one of the medic's off and grabbed Murdock's shoulders. "Murdock! Murdock, stop! You're safe now, we're back at base."

The pilot's screams died in a hoarse cough and he shook in his friend's arms. His eyes were opened wide, staring at something distant and unseen. He gulped the air in and coughed it back out, choking and clinging to Face all the time. Hannibal and BA watched from a distance and the medics stood by to help as soon as Face had him settled. It was not the first time they'd seen such a reaction.

"Murdock, Murdock? Buddy, look at me. Can you hear me?" Face asked. He slid one arm behind the pilot's head to give him more support. "The medics need to look at you."

Two dark eyes slowly focused on blue ones and Murdock nodded, trying to control his own erratic breathing. "These hands... came from nowhere," he managed through the gasps.

"It's just the medics," Face assured him. "Our medics. Will you let them take a look at you?" Murdock nodded again and Face eased away from him, but not out of sight.

Face could see Murdock's body tense as the medics placed him on the stretcher and moved away. "Hold up." Face said. He walked to catch up and took Murdock's hand. "I need to walk it off, anyway." he said with a shrug, waving the other medics and stretcher away.

"Sir, you really should-" The medic's mouth closed quickly at the look he received and no more was said.

. They moved toward the medical base, BA in tow behind Face. The conman was about half certain that he heard Hannibal say that he needed to check in with Morrison and give a report, and that after his team was treated he would be back to bandage his own wounds. The single MD that they had on base stepped out to meet them, his eyes widening. "Good heavens," he breathed. "Get these men inside." He turned to Face and BA. "You're Smith's men, aren't you? What happened?"

"It's a shorter list of what didn't happen." BA said sourly. "I don't get paid enough to fly with this fool."

"It wasn't his fault." Face said, mildly defensive.

"Oh give me a home, where the buffalo roam, and the deer and the choppers both play," Murdock offered.

The doctor cocked an eyebrow. "Does he usually... sing?"

"He's done stranger," Face acknowledged.

The MD shook his head and pulled gloves onto his hands. He motioned for a nurse to take a look at Face's arms and the blond was perfectly happy to give the doctor over to their crazy pilot. A pretty blonde, just in from nursing school stateside, stood in uniform. "Lt. Peck, right?" she asked with a pretty smile. Despite everything, Face felt himself smile.

Despite the fact that she was pretty and flirty and made sure it didn't hurt too much when she cleaned out his wounds (or even if it did, the promise of soothing it later appeased somewhat) Face felt his gaze drifting over to where the pilot was being tended to on the other side of the tent. Murdock really, truly believed he'd been killed and went even crazier than usual. He wondered what he would have done if he thought Murdock had been killed. He grimaced and looked at his hands. _Oh yeah. You'd kill for him, Faceman._

His wounds were wrapped and he was sure that the nurse was waiting to be asked for a rendezvous time, but Face only offered his usual charming smile and ducked away from her. Any other time, absolutely, but he wasn't sure what was taking the doctor so long with Murdock. The nurse had advised him to lie down, being that he had a fever from the infection that had set in, and really should take it easy, but he didn't find himself any further than the bench that was outside the tent. BA was sitting there, his arm wrapped up and in a sling. He glanced up when his teammate exited the tents and nodded, his expression never changing. They sat in silence, waiting.

The minutes ticked by. The nurses would stop by every so often to check the bandages and offer them food or water. An hour or so into their vigil Face asked, "Hannibal?"

"Morrison, still." BA answered.

Face didn't respond. He leaned his head back against the tent and his eyes drifted shut. He found himself half praying in his exhaustion and his fear that Murdock wasn't going to pull through.

Hannibal appeared at last, a momentary relief to their thoughts as they scooted over to make room for their CO. He mumbled something about Morrison and paperwork, and asked if there was any news. There was not and they all lapsed into silence. Hours seemed to fade into each other and finally the flap of the tent opened, revealing the graying man from within. The doctor stood, peeling blood covered gloves from his long, pale hands. He wore a serious expression on his face, but nodded at Face when he noticed the younger man's questioning expression. "Captain Murdock should pull through," he said at last. "The bullet broke a rib, hit his lung, but we have him stabilized now. He has a bad concussion and some injuries from what appears to have been a beating. If it'd been much longer..." He paused, noting the horrified expressions on the A-Team's faces. "You got him here just in time," he said instead. "He's still asleep, but here in the next few minutes you may each go in one at a time."

Hannibal nodded towards Face. "He should be there when he wakes up." His tone left no room for question.

The doctor nodded slowly. "Just try to keep a calm presence."

"That's what the Faceman does best." Hannibal said with a smile, lighting his cigar.

Face stood up, swaying slightly and followed the doctor back into the tent. "Yeah. My one true gift in life, remaining calm in the face of crazy." he said.

If the MD heard him, he did not respond, but led him to the back room and pulled the curtains back. Murdock looked pale and thin against the white sheets. His hair was plastered back, a fever still gripping him. Even as ghastly as he looked, Face couldn't help but notice the most obvious: he was, if nothing else, alive, and set to stay that way. That brought a genuine smile to his lips and he pulled a rickety chair to the bedside and sat, feeling very tired and weak suddenly. The last however many hours of hell were catching up with him, and he wanted nothing more than to close his eyes until Murdock opened his.

"Well, well. Howdy, sunshine." Face said with a smile. He leaned forward, bandaged arms on his knees. Relief flooded through him, more than he had been expecting. As exhausted as he was, he was grateful to have a reason to keep his eyes open. God only knew what he'd see once he closed them

Murdock blinked, his eyes heavy with the drugs they'd pumped him full of for the impromptu surgery. Confusion was evident, but that was to be suspected. Face only hoped that it wouldn't linger like it had earlier. The pilot licked his lips, wetting them and clearing his dry throat. "Uh... Face? Where...?" he managed, a cough stopping him when his throat proved too dry for much communication.

"We're back at base camp. Hannibal and BA came to get us." Face supplied. He grabbed a tin cup with cool water and held it for Murdock to drink out of.

The pilot accepted it gratefully and drank until there was nothing left. He settled back against the pillows, looking exhausted at the very slight movement. "Get us?" he echoed. "What'd I miss?" He paused, dark eyes following the bandages on Face's arms until they disappeared underneath the sleeves of a white t-shirt. They were slightly tinged with what looked like blood, but they looked to have been well treated. He cocked his head, trying to force his brain to move. He felt like he was asking questions that he'd already asked, but he couldn't for the life of him remember what the answer was supposed to be. "You're hurt, Face," he said at last, unable to formulate any other statement.

"What, these things? These are the latest rage, don't you know. Ladies dig a man in gauze." Face said with a grin. "You should be getting plenty of the nurses yourself with all the gauze you're wrapped up in." His eyes darkened and he dropped his gaze. "We, ah, got injured when the chopper got shot down. You did a real good job with the crash landing, though. Most pilots would have lost it but you held it together to the bitter end." Face figured he sounded like an idiot, but if Murdock's mind didn't want to go back to the camp, he sure as hell wasn't going to take him there.

Murdock cringed, but not from pain. "Dammit... Morrison's going to be pissed if I crashed the thing. Has Hannibal been to see him yet?"

"Uh, yeah. It wasn't your fault. We were ambushed. But Hannibal held onto the data we'd retrieved and there was nothing left for the Charlie's to salvage so we're in the clear for now." Face said. "You really did good, Murdock."

"I feel like I've been shot," the pilot murmured as he laid his head back, staring at the top of the tent.

Face opened his mouth to try and give him an answer, but he didn't have time when the tent flap was pulled back and Hannibal poked his head in. "Captain, good to see you awake."

"Hiya, Colonel," Murdock greeted with a tired grin. "Hear that I probably caused you a bit of paperwork, huh?"

"Just a bit," Hannibal agreed. "But, on the up side, our A-Team has a bit of time off for the next bit to recoup. They're sending us stateside."

Murdock glanced at Face. "We're getting rewarded for crashing a chopper?"

Hannibal opened his mouth and Face shot him a clear warning look that Murdock missed. Hannibal let out a puff of cigar smoke. "Er, not exactly. I'm sure there will be something for us to do. But you boys got busted up pretty good and BA and I could use a break. We'll get a couple of days of easy breathing at any rate. You know what they say boys, don't look a gift horse in the mouth."

The doctor came in and began shooing people out, fussing about the one-visitor rule he'd set strictly and telling Face that if he didn't go rest he'd admit him into the hospital tent. Murdock chuckled at his friends as they laughed and joked as they were ushered out, leaving him alone and the doctor telling him to rest. He closed his eyes, exhausted, and was plunged very suddenly into a dark, frightening place that jerked him back to realty with Face's name bursting from his throat.

Face, who had lingered at the edge of the tent, was back at the pilot's side in a split second. "Murdock?"

Dark eyes blinked and the pilot opened his mouth as if he were going to say something. Face almost wished he would, so that they wouldn't be dancing around the subject until Murdock came to terms with it... if he ever did. A confused look passed through the pilot's eyes and a grin broke out on his face, as if the scream had never come from him. "Hey, Faceman, ya think they'll still be playin' Willy Wonka when we get back? I wanna see it. You wanna go see it, Face?"

The conman sat on the edge of the bed and took a deep breath, resisting the sudden urge to pull Murdock into a tight hug. He smiled instead and nodded. "Yeah," he said softly, "Yeah, I think I'd like that."

* * *

A/N: Well, there it is. I just wanted to give a little explination... I started the piece Notes b/c I've been trying to figure out the same thing that every other Murdock fan tries to figure out: is he faking, is he nuts, or is he a little of both? I tend to lean towards the latter. I feel like Murdock's peices of this story grew progressively darker as it went along (just a note, when Gabrielle Day and I wrote it, she focused more on Face's lines and reactions and I focused more on Murdock's). I think this is b/c I started doing an interview with a friend of mine that served in Vietnam for a book that I plan to write sometime in the future... He said that 99% of Vietnam vets have flashbacks of somekind, even to today. It's crazy. I don't think these men get the credit they deserve, personally... Well, I heard stories, and my already intended twist on Murdock on this got darker, so yeah... I don't know. Thought that my warrent an explination. Maybe not. If not, yay! Ignore my ramblings.


End file.
